The Inheritance Saga
by Beautybedamned
Summary: 67 years after the crowning of Queen Esther Blanchett of Albion, the world has changed. A New Renaissance has come upon the Earth and there is much deserving of documentation. They say: ‘The young inherit the earth.’  Come.  I have a story to tell you.
1. Relevant Information and Author's Block

**"The Inheritance Saga"**  
A _Trinity Blood_ Fan Fiction Piece

(Beautybedamned)

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_For Kam (Sleepwalking Dreamer),  
__Who listened to my ideas with an open mind,  
__and encouraged me to tell this story._

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**Teaser:**

67 years after the crowning of Queen Esther Blanchett of Albion, the world has changed – a New Renaissance has come upon the Earth and there is much deserving of documentation.

They say: '_The young inherit the earth_.'

Well then. Listen.  
I have a story to tell you.

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**Writer's Notes and Mandatory Disclaimer:  
**_The Inheritance Saga_ is my little tribute to the world that the abovementioned individuals have made, and any liberties I take with the actual canon (timeline, storyline, characters or otherwise) are for fan-purposes alone. Reworking the world and re-envisioning everything is my little way of playing around with things.

With that said, please note that while canon characters will make their due appearances, the primary plot of this little project mostly revolves around the original characters who were inspired into being by the concept, the story and the world of TB itself.

Naturally, standard disclaimers for fan fiction apply: All concepts, ideas, characters and events from _Trinity Blood_, beautiful and intricate as they are – **are not mine**. Proper credit goes to Yoshida Sunao, Tomohiro Hirata, and GONZO.

However, the dela Roma family, Luca Sforza, Claire Marie Blanchett and other characters not found in the anime/manga/novels however, **are mine**. I have gathered myself a considerable headache by coming up with individual stories and character designs, and I would like to believe that the effort, creative thought and research I have put is enough to make them mine. Consequently, the events in this piece and the references I make to supposed 'past' events _not canonical_ to the anime/manga/novels are also mine. Any flaws in the grand continuum, any mistakes are mine to obsess over and rework. Please do not use without my permission, I am severely attached to these ideas.

Overall, I'm just a fan with enough/too much time on her hands and an (almost) insane love for TB. I admit that I have not touched/read the manga or the novels and am working mostly on what I've seen from the anime, so bear with me as I'm just fooling around with what I do know and modifying things as much as I need to. Any inconsistencies with the canon are filed under the folder that indicates TIS as an _AU_. Resources such as the Timeline indicated below are modified to suit my creative whims and the needs of this story. Please do not flame, I'm merely playing in a sandbox that was made available.

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**Modified Timeline for _The Inheritance Saga_:  
**(much of the information included is based off the Trinity Blood article in Wikipedia)

**2080 AD**  
The Earth experiences a population boom, with people reaching to roughly 12 billion. In response, the _Red Mars Project _is created with the intention to colonize the planet Mars as a secondary home.

**2085 AD**  
'Lilith' is created/born somewhere in South Asia.

**2088 AD**  
'Cain' is created/born in Berlin. 'Abel' is created/born in London.

**2098 AD**  
'Seth' is created/born in a facility bordering America and Canada.

**2100 AD & onwards**  
The _Red Mars Project _is launched and the Nightlord Siblings (Lilith, Cain, Abel, and Seth) are sent to Mars with a handful of people. After the initial colony is established, 100,000 people are sent to populate the area. At one time, Abel is somehow 'abandoned' in the Martian wasteland and Lilith sets out in search of him and they set course to return to the colony. Their rover/transport breaks down and both Lilith and Abel come upon an alien spacecraft later on known as "The Ark". Alien bodies are discovered inside and the two bring them back to the colony. It is Seth who discovered the bacillus/nanomachines inhabiting these bodies.

There are two types which she dubs 'ordinary' and 'Crusnik'. When Cain and a coworker get into a fatal accident, Seth injects the Crusnik nanomachine in an attempt to save their lives. Only Cain returns to life and Seth concludes that the Crusnik bacillus/nanomachine is only compatible with individuals who are genetically modified. Seth injects the bacillus into herself, Lilith and Abel and the ordinary variety is mass-produced and distributed to the other members of the colony, allowing them to adjust and survive in their new environment. Side-effects include increased strength, speed, agility, and extended life spans.

At the discovery of alien technology, two civil wars break out on Mars and on Earth. The latter is more known as Armageddon. America is wiped off the map, Europe is mostly intact thanks to the use of biological weaponry as opposed to nuclear warfare. Asia is a wasteland presently devoid of life.

At the end of the Martian civil war, remaining survivors build a second spacecraft over the course of 80 years. They also name this "The Ark", and successfully return to Earth dubbed now as 'Returners'. They offer to help rebuild the world and are initially accepted into society, only to realize later on that the bacillus is reacting negatively to the ultraviolet rays emitted by the sun. The first recorded instances of vampirism occur and several 'regular' humans are slaughtered to soothe the 'bloodlust'. A racial divide occurs.

The Nightlord Siblings experience changes themselves: Cain fuses himself with the Crusnik nanomachines to become Crusnik 01. He develops a belief that Terrans (regular humans) are inferior to Methuselah (Returners) and Seth and Abel share his sentiments. Lilith thinks otherwise. When the other three utilize their amplified abilities and murdering millions, Lilith fuses completely with her own nanomachines to become Crusnik 04, forms an alliance with Pope Gregory, and provides the Terrans with new technology, creating the foundation for Istvan and Albion. Later, in Paris, Carthage, Lilith wins the conflict and pushes all Methuselah to seek refuge in Western Europe and the East. Cain proposes a truce and suggests a meeting at the Ark, which is parked somewhere above Africa.

**2220 AD  
**Cain slays Lilith, and both Abel and Seth break off alliances with their brother. In a fit of rage, Abel ejects Cain from the Ark. They presume that he is dead. Abel then destroys the Ark and brings Lilith with him down to Rome, where her body is entombed in an underground crypt.

**(900 Years Pass)**

**3021 AD**  
Vaclav Havel is born.

**3023 AD**  
William Walter Wordsworth is born in Albion.

**3029 AD**  
Francesco de Medici is born in Florence.

**3031 AD**  
Leon Garcia de Asturias is born in Barcelona. Kate Scott is born in Albion.

**3032 AD**  
Hugue de Watteau is born in Holland.

**3036 AD**  
Caterina Sforza is born in Milan. The scientist Zebetto Garibaldi formulates his ideas for the creation of cyborg soldiers, named the HC series. Cloning begins in society.

**3044 AD**  
Alessandro Sforza is born in Milan.

**3045 AD**  
Esther is born in Albion.

**3051 AD**  
In the first week of December, Pope Gregorio XXX visits Carthage on political business and is invited to watch the annual choir competition held in Notre Dame. He encounters 9-year-old Gabrielle for the first time, who sings high soprano for one of the competing groups. On Christmas Eve, that same year, Pope Gregorio invites the little Gabrielle to sing at St. Peters Basilica in Rome for High Mass. Alessandro is 7, Caterina is 15, and Francesco is 22. **(TIS)**

**3054 AD**  
Caterina first encounters Abel in Milan. She is 18 years old.

**3055 AD**  
In late February, Pope Gregorio the 30th passes away, and in March the Papal elections follow. Caterina is made Head of State Affairs, Francesco is named Head of Doctrine. Alessandro is proclaimed Alessandro XVIII and Gabrielle is invited once more to sings for the funeral of Gregorio XXX as well as His Holiness' coronation. Caterina is 19, Alessandro is 11, Francesco is 26, Gabrielle is 13. **(TIS)**

In April, after a failed rebellion the Bishop Garibaldi commits suicide and Abel and Caterina acquire one of the cyborg soldiers: HC-IIIX (Tres Iqus). In May, the Original AX group is assembled: Crusnik (Abel), Know Faith (Vaclav), Gunslinger (Tres), Professor (William), Iron Maiden (Kate) & Sword Dancer (Hugue). They are joined thereafter by Mistress (Noelle Bór) in **3056 AD**, and Dandelion (Leon Garcia) in **3058 AD**.

**3059 AD**  
In June, AX first battles the RCO at Vienna. The AX battleship Iron Maiden is destroyed Captain Kate Scott is severely injured. Weeks later, the Iron Maiden II goes into commission and Kate Scott is 'uploaded' into the ship's computer database with the help of WWW (_this event was __originally set in 3061, a year after the hijacking of the Airship Tristan, but has been pushed earlier to adhere to the anime_). In September, Father Leon Garcia is stripped of his position in AX and is sent to prison for murder.

**3060 AD**  
In January, Airship Tristan is hijacked. Abel Nightroad and Jessica Langston foil attempt by RCO to crash the airship on the Vatican. (_Flight Night_) In November, Abel and Tres are following up on a slew of vampire killings wherein the vampires seem to turn on themselves to kill each other. They encounter Elise Wasmeyer who has the telepathic ability to take over people's minds. She is the target of the vampires. (_Witch Hunt_)

**3063 AD**  
In February, Abel arrives at Istvan under orders to find the "Star" and encounters Sister Esther Blanchett and Dietrich who are involved in the assassination of an official. Dietrich is gunned down infront of both Abel and Esther and the two are taken into custody by Count Gyula who intends to use the satellite 'Star of Sorrow' to punish the cities of the world. (_The Star of Sorrow I. City of Blood _and_ The Star of Sorrow II. Hunter's Banquet_) Shortly thereafter, Abel brings Esther to the Vatican and she is introduced to some of the members of AX: WWW, Father Havel, Sister Noelle and Sister Kate Scott. (_Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow_)

In March, Father Hugue de Watteau, investigates a murder that has taken place in a church in Amsterdam. (_Sword Dancer_) Sometime later, Father Abel enlists Father Leon Garcia to aid in the investigation in exchange for taking off several years from his prison sentence. They investigate a report regarding ships that are attacked by 'vampire-faeries' off the coast of Albion. (_Never Land_)

In May, both Crusnik and Mistress head to Barcelona, Spain after the National Palace collapses. Noelle dies in Barcelona, victim of the Silent Noise machine (_Silent Noise_) and though grief stricken by the events, the agents of AX regroup in Rome to prevent the RCO from carrying out their plan to destroy the capital with the device. At this time, the Lady Caterina is held under house arrest for her suspicion of Archbishop D'Este. (_Overcount I. The Belfry of Downfall_ and _Overcount II. Lucifer's Choice_)

In July, Abel teams up with an agent of the Empire, Astharoth Aslan, to hunt down a vampire mass murderer of humans, Enderles Kudza. (_From the Empire_) This is shortly followed by the events in (_The Ibelis I. Evening Visitors; The Ibelis II. Betrayal Blaze; The Ibelis III. A Mark of Sinner_), (_The Night Lords I. The Return of Envoy, The Night Lords II. Twilight of the Capital, The Night Lords III. The Island of her Darling Children, The Night Lords IV. The Palace of Jade, The Night Lords V. A Start of Pilgrimage_)

**3064 AD**  
In April, the conflict between AX and the RCO come to a head. In May, Esther Blanchett, granddaughter to the Queen of Albion is crowned by Pope Alessandro XVIII. Sometime thereafter, Father Abel Nightroad and Ion Fortuna, Earl of Memphis, leave to track down RCO. (_The Throne of Roses I. Kingdom of the North, The Throne of Roses II. The Refuge, The Throne of Roses III. Lord of Abyss_), (_The Crown of Thorns I. City in the Mist, The Crown of Thorns II. The Lord of Oath_)

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(TIS) **- insertions necessary for _The Inheritance Saga_


	2. Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts I

**Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts  
I. First Dust**

She has lived in this house for more years than any other place in the world. In its rooms and halls stray the shadows of years gone by: memories of another life altogether.

Apparitions trail their mirth in the halls, and these flashbacks are clearer than the present. If she closes her eyes, she can catch the sound of toes tripping on that one last step of staircase, of the delighted laughter of children occupied in nightly games of hide-and-seek; of parties where adults mingled, finely dressed, music snaking through the spaces beneath ornate ballroom doors. Now, these same halls are dim and vacant, the nooks no longer hiding whispering children, and the room with the grand piano, elaborate chairs, long buffet tables and mirrored walls has been left unused for some time.

The floorboards are silent at dusk now, lacking the echo of purposeful strides that had been her Papa's footfalls when he'd tucked the boys in for bed. The walls sleep in their own fashion, dutifully keeping portraits commissioned in years previous. The railing of the great staircase is polished, yes, but it misses the partly damp feel of young or old hands that would skim upon its surface.

Once, she had crouched there, on those same steps, her youngest brother held close to her side, their faces pressed between the mahogany bars to peer at the Duchess of Milan, a woman she would over the years come to respect and refer to as one of her mother's better friends. It had snowed that night, and the elegantly dressed Cardinal had walked in from winter, a warm smile for the mistress and master of the manor that had once been a part of her younger brother's estate for a number of years. Her escort, a man with long, wavy hair and a shadow of a beard had set down several delicately wrapped gift boxes on the table beneath the hall mirror.

They had never known of Christmas before coming to this house. It had been thanks only to their mother's sentiment over the Terran holiday that had caused it to bear some importance to them over the years. Such traditions and practices are unnecessary to Methuselah, irrelevant and excessive as they are in their frivolity.

But Mama was Matriarch, just like in any other Methuselah family; be it far from any of them to deny her anything that was known to give her, in some way and form, pleasure. She was their mother, she had made them a family, and she had ever remained the tie that bound them to each other. Her Papa's smile was often easily coaxed by the briefest of touches from her, and security for each of them – young and starved as they were for affection and care – had been the promise in her eyes; every word spoken from her lips guaranteeing love, compassion and tenderness.

They had loved her. She had been the proverbial candle in the window: burning bright, ever steady and lit well until the dawn.

It is twenty-five years now since the plots were first dug in the garden; twenty-five years since they once more found themselves without mother or father, though the distinct difference between this time and then, is that they are no longer orphans, homeless and afraid. They are grown men and women of elegance and grace, with the mark of their established, self-made lineage set upon the base of time. And while the house may have fallen silent of more youthful days and noisier thresholds, the foundation is secure and far stronger than it was at its beginning.

Today, Celené dela Roma stands by the window overlooking her mother's lush garden. Roses bloom fragrant in the brush, the late afternoon sun molten over their petals. She is matriarch now, has been for the past two-and-a-half decades. She is keeper of this house, their "castle in Rome", the place she and her siblings consider an heirloom that will be passed onto future generations as the family's ancestral home.

Today, unlike other previous days, she is waiting.

Her hand is gentle against the clear glass, and her eyes are focused on the two grave markers that stand ever like twin soldiers in the late, bronzed afternoon. A third will be erected to join them, and soon. The knowledge of that runs its nails across her heart, prompting her to grieve. Those who have seen her grow, know that as a child she had never been one given to weeping. She will not start now.

_They are coming home_, she thinks instead, and her voice is small again, as if five years old and alone, with two other small hands clutched in both of her own as she ducks into the alleys of grand, glorious Venice.

And the rain is falling. It is always, always falling.


	3. Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts II

**Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts  
****II. Mother-land**

Train rides are his preferred choice of transport. Airships, in his honest opinion, so often have a nasty habit of shortchanging precious time allotted for introspection for the convenience of quick travel. Though hours whiled away in the company of the Duchess of Kiev are hardly boring, he would have liked the three-day trip from The Empire to the place he still thinks fondly of as home.

Stepping out from the climate-controlled terminal to the shade of a UV-protected awning right outside the port, his normally stern expression softens at the sight of pale morning sunlight bathing the streets. It is hardly anywhere near noon, but he refrains from entertaining the idea of traipsing the beautiful city in an attempt to relive the days of his youth. While thinking on it is something he can afford, the act itself is completely out of the question unless he is intent on injuring himself on his first day back.

A taxi drives to the front of the air-station steps and he slips fluidly into the backseat with the well-practiced motion of someone who has done so a multitude of times before. The driver is courteous, asking no questions save for their destination, and he smiles just briefly, lips concealing that slight flash of fang. "To the dela Roma estate, _por favor_." The last two words slip past his lips out of habit, him having spent so much of his time in the company of those who speak the older tongues fluently.

Here, in the capital of the Papal States, there is no need for such things, and most Methuselah daring to travel within the once unsafe zones watched by the Vatican purposefully drop any and all foreign tongues to render them human-like. But he knows this country and forgets sometimes, the dangers of being less vigilant. After all, despite sixty-some-some years of good relations with The Empire, the caution still stands that one can never be careless with one's selection of drivers.

But the old man merely nods as if nothing is amiss, and despite himself, he feels his body relax all at once against the comfort of the chair. His eyes, shaded by specially designed glasses fit for his kind, turn to gaze upon the passing cityscape:

Rome is beautiful in the daytime; there is just no other way to put it. The old-world charm it holds itself with appeals to him with that faint touch of familiarity and it is personal conceit that he knows the city better perhaps, than he knows himself. Watching it now, he smiles knowing that any improvements made to the overall infrastructure are well hidden from the naked eye. Like the age-old Terran cliché goes: _Why fix what isn't broken?_ And Rome's beauty is certainly far, _far_ from broken.

Yes, he knows these streets well, can maneuver through them in car or on foot, and it is nothing of a feat on his part that he has already attended masses at each and every one of the churches built. It is easy, really, given that he has lived only a fraction of his immediate lifetime and still has many, many more years to look forward to.

People come and go on the sidewalks: young, old, in groups or pairs or less. He watches and observes in silence as they drive past historical landmarks of one kind or another. A smile touches his lips, the route is now familiar to him.

"You are showing me the sites, _señor_?" This time he feels no need to stay his tongue of the appended language as a sort of arrogant comfort wraps itself around him. His peers in the royal courts will attest to that arrogance and call it carelessness on his part, but he hushes these inner voices and curls his fingers around the shoulder of the front passenger seat. Yes, true, he is a Methuselah in the capital of all the Papal States, but it is true also that he is a child of Rome. If this man does not know it, he will still not be concerned. He is home now and the only flaw in his mental processes is the earlier paranoia that he might be a victim of hurt here, in the land of his youth.

The world has changed and is changing still. Peace, hesitant a thing as it is, is something that people know in the same way they know sunshine. It fluctuates with the occasional fanatic outburst here and there, but what is that to the efforts by her Imperial Majesty, his Holiness Alessandro XVIII and Albion's Queen Esther? He is prepared to launch into a historical lecture on how efforts on both all sides of this great earth at least allow everyone a hesitant sort of peace to sleep to at night. Years spent defending himself in the courts has made this kind of thinking instinctive.

He thinks how only the ignorant would not know that in less than five months it is expected that celebrations on either end of the New United Earth will commemorate the twentieth anniversary of the _Alliance Land Route_, the railroad that has combined established routes within the New Human Empire headed by Augusta Vradica and those routes that link the Papal States overseen by the Vatican herself. The cross-country transport is more affordable than luxury airships whose prices more often appeal to the wealthy and nobility, and allow everyone the chance to travel and acquaint themselves with the world that they all share. If the railroad system does not count as the one thing that symbolizes the efforts for peace between once warring races, he doesn't know what else will.

"Well... yes," the driver responds, easing the car smoothly at the corner. "I thought you might enjoy seeing a bit of Rome on the way, sir." Gears shift and speed picks up enough to overtake a white sedan that holds a mother and two children. "I apologize, if I assumed wrong." The car slows down again to the steady ease of its travel. "It's just that the rate is fixed no matter what route I drive you through."

True enough, three years ago an improvement was implemented to the already existing taxi systems of Italy, Albion and Gaul. In a nutshell, those under or allied with the papacy had been assigned a certain taxi company each to see to city-wide vehicular transportation. Each state or city had its overall area divided into a grid, and the sections of this grid determined how much an individual would pay for transport at a fixed price. A fixed (and very much satisfactory) salary kept the drivers well-compensated for the services they rendered, and the fixed fare guaranteed tourists from all over the convenience of planning certain travel expenses in advance. Economically-speaking, the reasoning behind the move was sound, especially since tourism and trade between the once divided races had boomed considerably.

He knows the ins and outs of this system intimately. He came up with the plan. And though the project is never associated directly to his name, it is one of his oddities that he takes more pleasure with knowing that while the dream has been borne from his mind, other people take credit for its implementation. It is enough that there are those who think fondly of those bearing the dela Roma name, since their family has always been at the forefront of pushing for such unification projects. Personally, he believes that monuments and plaques of recognition are for those who long for immortality. On his part, he just wants to live well.

His eyes remain steady on the rearview until wizened eyes glance back at him through the mirror. The edges are crinkled with crow's feet and a smile reflects in their azure depths. "It seemed a nice way to welcome home a son of Rome." Buildings give way to trees and the path widens as countryside comes into view. The air is often said to be clearer here, the vast spread of green sprinkled with flowers making it seem as though a whole different world has opened up and swallowed them whole.

"You know me," the smile blooms on his face, bright and boyish. He chuckles and falls back against the seat, his fingers falling away to settle beside his thigh. He pulls off his glasses and unveils himself unguarded to the face partially reflected in the rearview. The old man simply laughs.

"I saw your mother's ring on your finger, sir." At those words, his eyes fall to the item encircling his left index finger, the polished surface mutely reflecting the glare of the sun filtered by the UV-protect tint that covers the windows. Unlike most jewelry of this nature, the ring is made of pewter and not silver, for obvious health reasons on his part.

The letters carved into the metal are intricately intertwined, forming the crest that adorns the stationery he uses for both official and personal letters. This same insignia is what shapes the wax beneath his signature in imperial memos, and is stitched onto the napkins that are laid out for meals in the house in Granada. It is the symbol that they grew up with, one that their father designed. And now, long after the passing of his parents, it is what ties him securely to his immediate kin, and is what identifies them to the great populace of grand, grand Rome as the children of a woman who was long ago likened to the angelic messenger St. Gabriel.

"I drove your brother this same way not two days ago." His attention snaps back to the old man who speaks with a slightly somber note in his voice. "Your sister is a regular on my shift. She makes sure that she catches me without a customer so that I can ferry her between the estate and the Vatican." Two of his sisters live here, but only one would have pressing matters to see to at the Vatican itself.

"She likes familiarity." _And is incredibly selective of the people she surrounds herself with._ But he adds that last part silently to himself. "How are they?" He asks, unable to resist. It has been so long since they have all gathered in one place; each of them living their own lives and seeing to their own preferences as nature (and their mother) intended them.

"Well, I suppose." The car eases around a pothole on the uneven road. They are in the outskirts of the city now where people rarely go. Ruins of old churches and houses few and far-between are the only things that stand constant. Trees are the only things that change and grow. "It made the miss smile, that's for sure." A cloud eclipses the sun overhead. The timing makes it seem ominous, like a little gesture from some higher power.

_A sign_, he recalls the way his mother spoke, never louder than necessary; husky as if whispering a secret, _from God?_ She would laugh until she was breathless, bundle him up in her arms, the curtain their little cocoon. _What do you think, my little Anton?_ She would nuzzle his ear as if he was still five. It never mattered to her that he had turned seventeen or even twenty. To her he would forever remain her little baby, still cold from the melted snow hiding in his clothes.

Outside a gust of wind rustles through the grass, bustling and hurrying as if a plague chased it from behind. The display is beautiful, the grass resembling velvet and the texture of changing shades. It is greatly lacking of sound from behind the window, and Anton Maurice, eldest of the dela Roma children sees it best to use his imagination to supply the hissing rush that makes it concrete to all his senses.

Ahead of him – of them – the crumbling outer wall of the dela Roma estate peeks coyly from the horizon, as if a child peering hesitantly from the door that seals off his parents room. Against the backrest Anton leans, crossing his arms over his chest along the mid-section of his ribs, in order to support, he supposed, his heavy, heavy heart.


	4. Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts III

**Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts  
****III. Transience**

She turns fifty-two next week. It's nothing more than a number, something that she adds one more to every year in order to keep track of how much time has passed between then and now. Were it any other year she wouldn't have thought of celebrating it in the fashion that called for some measure of sentiment on her part, simply because sentiment is not her strongest front. She has often left that to her peers, comrades and those whom she works with within similar halls.

Were it any other year, it wouldn't have mattered.

Were it any other year, she wouldn't be turning one year older – alone.

Her footfalls are heavy in a manner that evokes sound. It is a Terran affectation that she has adopted over the course of forty-seven years. It is also a habit she is loath to discard despite her initial distaste for it. It's something that she owns now, just as surely as she owns her name, her life, her place in this little snatch of earth. It's as natural and as lasting as the faces that have come and gone over the years – faces of people she remembers in a way that the newly inducted members of the Vatican staff will never know; a manner that is intimate and concrete as that of family and close, close friends.

She stops before a portrait and the woman who looks back down evokes a sense of youngness on her part. The eyes rendered by paint may lack the luster of their living counterpart, but memory supplies what it lacks – the severity that would chide her into silence, or the kindness that would sometimes glow warmly in unguarded moments of ease – giving life to an otherwise impersonal depiction.

"_Fitting really_, _for His Holiness to have put her image here_," She turns to the voice that has appeared at her side and she smiles at her newly arrived companion. For all his ghostly appearance – what he himself would describe as the only groan-worthy consequence of his integration into the University of Rome's computer system – William Walter Wordsworth has lost none of his rather eccentric charm, and true to form, he holds his trademark pipe elegantly between his fingers, the mouthpiece just centimeters from his digitized lips.

"_You don't visit enough_, _Tonette_," he scolds her good-naturedly, and the twinkle in his eyes is just as clear as when they had first met, with her so young and newly under AX's employ. "_I'm beginning to get the impression you find my company tedious_." He is younger in this form; his hair is rich and black, slick as if newly washed and his eyes lack the crow's feet that had helped make him grow distinguished instead of merely old. She knows that he is teasing her in the same way that he always did, serious as she was as a 'child'. "_It's a man_, _isn't it?_" He jests, and Tonette finds it so easy to cry. How unfair is it for her to think that while she has her wish – her mentor now immortalized thanks to the technology that he invented – it would perhaps be better if he, as a Terran, were like the others of his kind: still, silent and buried beneath earth.

William reaches out to her then, discomfited by the sudden show of humanity that has always been her sleeved ace. He could never stand to see her cry. "_Tonette_," His voice reverberates in the halls and even he is disturbed by the ominous quality of its tone. Echoes are often forbidding by design, and forbidding is the last thing this child needs, for she will always be a child to him.

"We will find out who did this. Now stop that, you make me feel more useless than were I an old man, doddering across the library, creaky and incredibly senile." All it takes is a mere thought now, really, and the echoes will die down with the cutting of volume from the multitude of speakers that line the interior of these walls. He is 'God' here, if he is actually allowed such a blasphemous comparison, but there is no other more appropriate description to convey the extent of his reach, now that his brain is the well-guarded property of the Papal States' most esteemed university.

"I'm sorry, sir," she sniffs and brushes her tears away. In a blink the signs of her vulnerability are gone, and back is Tonette Marie dela Roma, the middle child of Gabrielle and Renard's brood. "I have no excuse for being so blatantly—"

"Terran?" He supplies, cutting cleanly into her train of thought. Caterina used to tell him that their conversations – his and Tonette's – were like a brilliant chess game, precise and elegant despite their habit of interrupting each other mid-thought. He often disagreed with the description though, since he preferred to think that what he shared with Tonette was a relationship almost like that between an uncle and a favored niece. The idea was not too far-fetched given his ties and history with both her parents.

He hovers his fingers close to her cheek, an illusion of comfort for them both: "And here I thought you preferred being our half of the species, my dear." When she laughs, the sound is rich and it sends a surge of memory through him that sustains him the way feelings once did. He is no longer human by 'normal' standards. He is now, as his darling Kate was at some point in time, part-machine if not wholly so, sustained by technology designed to allow him to outlive them all.

"Are you feeling better now?" He inquires, fluctuating only a little as an airship crosses far, far overhead. "Kate has just reported to me that Anton has arrived." He tells her, a smile flickering on the edges of his lips. "You _are_ going to see him, aren't you?" He frowns at her, attempting to convey some sort of disapproval. "He _is_ your brother."

Tonette shrugs nonchalantly, as if the topic of her brother were not of any immediate importance. "I haven't seen Anton in twenty-five years. I'm sure he won't mind not seeing me for another few hours." She turns on her heel, a complete about-face from his presence. She is aware that she is acting spoiled, and is very much aware that she might offend him by the action, but familiarity takes precedence and she is assured in herself that he will forgive her these little offenses.

"I am still angry with him. He's the oldest of us all, and sexist as it may seem since Celené manages the estate better than he can, he's still the first child both in name and _fact_." She stops near a window and notes the students that walk back and forth across the quad, hurrying from their classes – some of which William, no doubt, would be conducting even as they were talking. Another perk of being incorporated into the system was that now, he had the ability to _literally_ multitask. It was unnerving at times, especially to the students – the freshmen in particular, who would naturally have to accustom themselves to accepting that Professor Wordsworth could be in two places at the same time; sometimes he was even in three – or four.

"He has some nerve," she murmurs, her fingers curling on the ledge, her nails scarring the wood, "coming back now as if he can simply waltz back into our lives." She is thankful for the tinted windows, for though the hour is well-past lunch and summer is now coming to a close, the sun can still sear her – and painfully. "And that Christophe," she watches her eyes narrow in her muted reflection, "running off on me so that he could be sure to be there when that conceited prick arrives." Her fingers curl in further still, and her nails dig into the flesh of her palms. "Idiots, the lot of them. I can't understand why Celené is so indulgent. Letting them into the house as if nothing's changed." A sparrow perches on the other side of the windowpane, its eyes blinking as it hops three steps to the side.

"Perhaps it is because you are all each other has now?" William suggests it instead of declaring it, allowing her the option to decide, and the glass wavers for a moment, his image taking the place of her reflection. "You used to think the world of him, if I remember things correctly." His eyes are kind and his smile is but a shadow on his lips. "What changed, Tonette?"

She bows her head then and wrings her hands. _Everything_, she thinks. _Everything changed_.


	5. Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts IV

**Beginnings: A Prologue in Four Parts  
****IV. Home**

He has always thought this house too big; but he loves it fiercely despite that. As a child, the wide rooms and high ceilings should have made it seem intimidating, but instead he took to it like a fish to water, and had run wild inside it, raising his voice to the ceilings too high up from him to reach and to the walls that stood silent at the far end of the room. He would shout, waiting expectantly for the echo that always came back to answer him. It had fascinated him, and no one had ever scolded him to stop these games.

The ceilings are still high, and the rooms are still large by far, but he has lost all need to cry out at them. He is happy with the silence and how it allows him to pay close attention to other sounds: the wind outside of the window playing in the bushes, the rush of wingbeats as small birds flit into the house to perch on ledges and banisters.

"I thought I might find you here," the voice that breaks into his thoughts causes him to turn, and his eyes spot the male silhouette leaning idly under the doorframe, arms crossed over a broad chest. For a moment his breath holds, another face coming to mind in place of the one that belongs to the one that has just spoken. "You should turn the light on Chris, no sense peering at pictures in the dark."

The room is illuminated as a switch is flipped, and Christophe lifts a hand to shield his eyes against the sudden light. When he sets his hand down again, Anton's smiling face looks at him with that familiar expression of faint amusement; the same one that his brother often sports in the Imperial Courts where they have spent most of the last quarter of a century.

Some other time, Christophe may have met it with a similar smile, but he doesn't now; his heart is still thudding loud in his chest. "You know…" Anton starts, his voice teasing as he walks up to him, "The Duchess of Kiev was disappointed that you decided to rush on ahead instead of joining us on the air ship." Within three steps they stand less than one arm's length away from each other, and Anton's smile fades as he takes note of the expression on his younger brother's face. "Chris, what's the matter?" He asks, reaching out to touch the younger man's shoulder.

Turning his eyes down and away, Christophe lets his fingers toy with the edge of the table. A number of picture frames are propped artfully on the polished surface, each containing photographs of various points of time in their lives. One in particular catches his eye, and a small ache gnaws at the center of his heart.

The family in the photograph smiles up at him: two girls sit beside each other, their dresses bright and new. The younger looks serious, her smile not as easy as the elder. They should have looked nothing alike, but somehow to believe that they are sisters isn't too difficult a thing to do. To the left of them, the mother smiles just as brilliantly, her eyes focused even as the small boy on her lap, unconcerned with the photographer, toys with the long, spiraling strands of her dark hair. Her free hand's fingers are twined with the father, and though he looks stern, no smile gracing his features, the hand that he sets on the shoulder of one of the two boys beside him gives him enough of warmth.

They look happy. Posed yes, but genuinely happy. He has to wonder where all of that has gone.

"I think I'm seeing ghosts." He turns his eyes back up to his brother, his light blue gaze meeting deep brown. "You looked like father just now."

He isn't too surprised to see the change in Anton's face: the way the light goes out in his eyes, the way his features shift just the slightest, all emotion closing off. It makes his heart heavy though, and though something murmurs at the back of his head that he let the topic go, Christophe nods when the older dela Roma asks: "Did I now…?"

Anton's stance has changed, his chin has lifted but a fraction and his hands have gone to hide inside his pockets. "I heard your voice," Christophe murmurs, "but in the dark you stood like him." He offers Anton a faint smile. "You did always mimic his movements."

His honesty is not well received.

"Ah," Anton says shortly, brushing past him and moving to the other side of the table to step towards the grand piano. The black surface gleams with the light that slivers in through the curtained windows, and as Anton unlocks it to uncover the keys, Christophe watches him, noting his movements. Anton is just Anton now – or rather, attempting to simply be Anton – his every moment precise in his awareness.

"Why do you do that?" He asks, slipping one hand into the pocket of his wool pants, his gaze not leaving his brother.

"Do what, Chris?"

He expels an irritated breath. "If you move like papa, then you move like him. You always do. You always have. I don't bring it up because when I do you get that way and—" He sighs, unprecedented irritation rising at the back of his throat. "You just look _stiff_." Tension creeps along his shoulders and up the back of his neck, building into something familiar: temper. "As if you're too aware of everything you're doing. It looks rehearsed."

He pauses. And shuts his eyes.

Inhaling deep, his eyes half-opening with the action, Chris lets the awkward silence of the room fade away for a moment, and then gradually he expels the breath between his lips, while his gaze remains downcast. "It was… comforting." He says the words softly, "even if it startled me." He lifts his eyes and it doesn't surprise him to find Anton standing directly in front of him. A smile flickers on the edges of Christophe's lips. "No fair. You didn't make a sound." It is old banter. One that they had shared with each other as brothers. All three of them. "Mama will scold you for that."

Anton smiles then, a sad smile that hesitates before it finally shows itself. "I wish," He murmurs softly, his voice low and slightly hoarse. He looks down a little as Christophe bends his head, leaning the top of it against his chest, an action that the younger hasn't done in years. Sighing heavily, he sets one hand atop Chris' light brown mass of cherub curls, an action _he_ hasn't done in years as well.

"Armand never got into trouble about that, did he, Chris? Why is that?" The light from the chandelier reflects off of the glass in the picture frames, blotting out the faces and memories captured there. It is as effective as darkness, which may have shrouded the photos like the veil that women wore in mourning. Light cancels out the images at the angle from where he stands, as if erasing his past and everything he loves with it.

"Because Armand was the more disciplined of you three."

They both straighten then, their attention turning back to the doorway that leads to the hallway outside. Celené stands beneath the arch, her hair dark hair pulled back from her face, her green eyes appearing brown due to the distance that she stands from them. "So you finally found him," She walks in, her footfalls soft and measured. The ghost of a smile that she offers either of her brothers is all it takes for them to take their places by her side. "Dinner's ready."

They follow her out of what they have dubbed as 'the family room', the silence around them thick as they move through the empty halls. She leads them, her gait conjuring yet another ghost for Christophe: as each lift of the hand, each sideways glance in their direction is so much like their mother's.

When the doors to the dining room open, the golden glow of the candles lit bleeds into that of the chandelier overhead, and the figure seated at the head of the table straightens, feet moving off the nearby chair to rest in their proper place on the floor.

"Well, isn't this a happy family reunion." Tonette looks back at them, the smile on her face as bitter as it is cold. "I see the prodigal has returned."


	6. Chapter I

**Chapter One: Reunions.**

_3065 AD_

"Alessandro?" Caterina Sforza raps her knuckles lightly against the doorframe, peering curiously into the room. A voice, soft and distant calls "come in," prompting her to do so, one hand falling to guide in the rest of her long, red robe. Crossing the sitting room and moving further in, she smiles to herself at the sight of her youngest brother puttering about in the most basic of dress.

"You're not even dressed." She chides him gently, leaning against the arch.

"I can't find the brooch." He looks up almost helplessly at her, his eyes so young still for someone who has now come of age. "The one you gave me." He turns away, upturning the pillows of his bed, as if the family heirloom might be uncovered in the sheets.

"Have you looked in the box?"

"The box?" The young Pope of Rome blinks back, echoing her last two words. Patient, she waits for the sheepish realization to bloom on his features, prompting him to step towards the mahogany dresser and open its top drawer to reveal an antique metal case.

"It's here," she hears him say just as he turns to lift the large gold pin for her to see. She'd given it to him just months before, having found it amongst her own things, amongst the other trinkets that their mother had given to her so long ago.

"I forgot." She notes how he stands very still, the words enunciated slowly, as if he is waiting for some kind of cue from her. It is here that she realizes that he resembles, both in look and movement, the child he was then. The one she half-raised.

Several heartbeats pass before she crosses to him, one hand coming up to touch his cheek. "You're jumpy." She states the observation simply before sitting herself down on the edge of his bed, a look caught between kind amusement and misplaced sheepishness flickering in her eyes. "Perhaps it was a bad idea to arrange this dinner?" She reaches out to him, her fingers brushing his chilled hand, a sympathetic smile revealing itself briefly on her lips. He's nervous, or excited. Or both. "I didn't mean to pressure you into thinking you couldn't have a small, private party. The dignitaries could learn to wait."

"No!" He bites the word out quickly—far too quickly. "No," Alessandro says again, more modulated this time as he shrugs his shoulders to straighten his posture. Inside, Caterina can't help but think that he's trying to please her still, as he has done all these long years. "Everything is alright. This was a good idea—_is_ a good idea." He murmurs the words with well-placed conviction before turning to the full-length mirror propped on one side, hands smoothing the creases from his white shirt.

"I'm twenty-one today," he said it with a hint of pride, "and I'm holding dinner with the highest-placed political figures from all over the world." There is a brief pause, as if in hesitation, before he continues: "Politically, it is the perfect situation to gather all the power-wielders in one room without outwardly implying business." He looks to her through his reflection and smiles boyishly. "Personally, it's the best excuse to invite friends who otherwise might be too busy to see me." They laugh, easy and light. Something, she muses, that they have only recently remembered how to do.

The sound of static fills their ears and whatever it is that Caterina might wish to say next is forgotten as both Sforza siblings turn to see Kate Scott appear out of thin air.

"Pardon the interruption, milady, Your Holiness." Static again, expected granted that airships of varying sizes are coming and going overhead. "The Professor and Father Leon are currently exchanging pleasantries with Queen Esther and Virgil in the dining area while the politicians are milling about, filling their plates with the buffet." Their three shared smiles, Caterina notes, puts her brother at ease and she relief settles and she listens to Kate reiterate what has transpired so far.

It was a personal favor, one that she had asked of each member of AX. _Develop and encourage some sort of rapport with Alessandro._ She'd told them. _His position of power affords him many things, but long-term friendships are hardly one of them._

Kate and William had been the easiest for Alessandro to connect with, since the former frequently updated him on news and other such things, while the latter had all but taken up the position of personal adviser on matters concerning history and cultural norms and the such. Upon his fairly recent return from other exploit with Ion Fortuna, Abel offered her brother a listening ear and a sympathetic heart. Leon provided blunt opinions, something that Alessandro had braved everyday and now, dare she say, looked forward to. Hugue had offered basic lessons in self-defense, which, according to the otherwise silent soldier, was something the boy would need in the unlikely event that he might be left unguarded.

Under their guidance, Alessandro learned confidence, and instead of feeling usurped from her position, Caterina relished the feeling of relief. It was time for her brother to step out from the long shadows that she and Francesco had cast to hide him in.

"Finally," Kate continues, "Father Abel is just now escorting the Duchess of Kiev into the main hall. Father Tres and Father Vaclav are currently at the landing making sure all goes well." As she turns to leave, Kate pauses a moment, her gaze momentarily distracted as new information filters into her network. "One more thing, Your Holiness," she smiles before bowing lightly, this is Caterina's cue to rise, and she leaves her brother to finish up: "Gabrielle has arrived."

**x **

The first time they met, he'd been seven and it had been Christmas. The second time, his father had died and he had just been crowned Pope. At both times, he'd thought her an angel, fanciful an idea as that was, as her voice became a source of comfort. A balm to soothe away the anxieties that so often plagued him whenever he stood in the company of his siblings, and then later still when it seemed that the title of who he was weighed all too heavily on his unsteady head.

Tonight, Alessandro smiles unable to hide the pleasure he feels at hearing the notes wash over him like they did years before. Gabrielle, as she is simply known, is standing at the far end of the room, her hands clasped level to her stomach as she sings. The entire room, if their silence is to be taken as such, is captivated.

He is not the least bit surprised.

It is her gift, this ability to draw people simply by uttering a few soft notes coating simple words and when she finishes, her lashes bowing like black half-moon butterflies folding themselves upon her skin, applause fills the air and chatter breaks out among his guests.

She is dubbed 'The Messenger' by the masses, the people likening her to one of God's great angels. He wonders, sliding a discreet glance to his sister, how Caterina managed to get a hold of her after all these years. Gabrielle has the tendency after all, to drop off the face of the earth, resurfacing only occasionally to perform. Gabrielle, he understands from all the information he's seen and read, is an incredibly private person, establishing few ties beyond her guardian – who, he notices belatedly, is nowhere to be seen.

"Happy Birthday once again, your grace," she bows before him. "It has been a long time."

"Yes, it has." He clears his throat, his voice having come out so small the first time around. "You look lovely, as always. Thank you so much for coming and singing for me." He feels just the slightest bit clumsy when he cups one of her hands between both of his. Long ago, Francesco had teased him (he would like to think good-naturedly though Caterina will say otherwise) that his childhood crush on Gabrielle bordered dangerously on embarrassing, and that he should learn to salvage his dignity by not letting his speech fritter away into incoherence.

He worries now that he might just do that, but Gabrielle's eyes on his are kind.

"Sit, please." And he hazards a glance to one of the university students assigned to be an usher for the affair. She is the guest of honor and therefore must sit beside Alessandro at the head of the table. When finally a seat is set beside his, Gabrielle smiles brilliantly, thanking the boy with a sweetness that on anyone else might seem insincere.

She moves like a child. He can't help but think that despite being two years his senior, her movements evoke a certain kind of grace that belong to thirteen-year-old girls.

"You must stay the night, at least, Gabrielle." Caterina speaks up from where she sits at Alessandro's left. Gabrielle's response is sheepish. "I am grateful for the offer," she says, "but perhaps another time. I am expected to return to the hotel." Dinner is finished, but drinks are being served and now small talk must be made. The evening's dessert is set down before them and as she continues to speak, the Duchess of Milan scoops a little of it with her spoon. "I have been told that you traveled all the way from Erin."

"It was an honor to be allowed the trip. The country was lovely to see." Alessandro notes the care by which Gabrielle moves, fingers light on the handle of her spoon, posture perfect and straight. When she looks back at him, not the slightest bit unfazed at catching him staring, she smiles simply. "Perhaps," he watches as she turns her eyes back to his sister, "you and His Holiness would like to visit Erin someday."

"We will consider it, Gabrielle." He hears Caterina respond and he lowers his gaze, his hand moving to rest by his glass. "And maybe you will be kind enough to join us."

_'That was magnificent.' He told her, seven-years-old and already convinced that she was larger than the world. He watched her turn, the expression in her equally young eyes just slightly surprised. Behind her, the open doors of the balcony allowed the night to come in. In her white and gold dress, dark hair pulled back from her face, curls spilling down her back and shoulders, she looked like one of the children standing or sitting by the feet of statued saints, carved from marble and granted life. _

_'I've never heard a Christmas hymn in French before,' he said it awkwardly, suddenly afraid that he shouldn't have approached. But she just smiled, the nod she offered her thank you. _

_'Gabrielle,' she looked over his shoulder then, called by another voice and as she brushed past him, her hand briefly squeezed his. So little a gesture, so unimportant a thing._

"Your Grace?" Alessandro looks up from his thoughts. "Are you alright, Your Holiness?" Caterina again, her voice concerned even as Gabrielle studies his gaze as he studies hers. Two children, once. They had been that.

He smiles then and nods to his sister, eyes away now from Gabrielle's as he apologizes softly for drifting off into thought. Seamlessly shifting the attention from himself to the Prime Minister of some country or another, Alessandro prompts conversation to resume at the table. Unseen and instead felt, fingers catch his, and without another thought he closes his hand over Gabrielle's, confident that the height of the table and her ability to move so discreetly will leave the action unnoticed.

**x **

"Out for some air, Virgil?"

He turns away from the evening sky and offers a smile to the newcomer. "Professor," he addresses William before hazarding a glance back into the room where what few individuals are left of Pope Alessandro's dinner party share stories and laughter with ease. It is a small group. The rest have gone home for the night.

"I thought it best that I make myself scarce. Her Majesty has been looking forward to seeing Pope Alessandro again." Virgil shakes his head, "Nearly drove me mad with her constant reminders to keep her schedule clear. I don't think she'd appreciate it much, me hovering. I do enough of that back in Albion."

William chuckles in response and pulls out the pipe from his pocket. "Well, all the unimportant people are gone so they should be fine." His dismissal of the dignitaries is casual, and the Methuselah watches in silence as the inside of the pipe allows smoke to rise and tumble out like small clouds. They are silent for a moment.

"How goes the project?" William's words tread lightly on an otherwise heavy subject, his voice pitched low. "I received word that you managed to get the system up and running."

In response, Virgil nods sagely. "Barely, but we managed. It's very old technology, I'm surprised we were able to salvage as much as we could." He looks askance, and William puffs, twice. "I have yet to mention it to Her Majesty. I do not think she will approve of it, though I see the value in activating the citywide surveillance system. Father Leon was right when he said that it would afford us the opportunity to track what goes on in the streets. My sister and the rest of the group you and Father Abel put together consider it their new toy."

"At least it's a useful toy."

Virgil simply smiles his agreement. "There's a small community in the southern part of the capital now. Predominantly Methuselah." When William lifts a brow in question, he continues: "Her Majesty drew up the idea. She felt that if we are to push for Albion to become the safe haven for all races, then we should at least modify a section of the city with the necessary facilities to house Methuselah."

"And the underground transport system?"

"She's been pushing that it be restored, and that instead of it simply being reactivated railways, that we pull together the most creative builders and the best available architects to start creating an underground city."

William nods and claps him on the shoulder. "You sound like you don't think it can be done."

The latter laughs softly. "It can." The smile on his lips is light. "What's daunting is that look she gets in her eyes when she talks about it. You'd think that... what was that adage again? About Rome being built in a day?"

William laughs then, spontaneous and amused. "It wasn't."

"Wasn't what?" Virgil frowns.

"It goes 'Rome wasn't built in a day'."

"Ah."

Silence tiptoes in with the mist and they both fall silent, Virgil once more turning his eyes to the sky. "I wish it were an easy dream. Bringing all this together." He murmurs the words without much cheer. "Though I might wish it were otherwise, the reality of it is, it's only been a year. It takes much longer than that for people to accept those perceived to be different from themselves."

"How many?" William's voice is sober.

"Casualties?" Virgil shakes his head. "Three. A father, Terran. A daughter and son, children of my own kind." William notes the tension in the other man's shoulders and when Virgil speaks again, the voice behind the words is heavy and tired. "Getting the system up and running as if it were brand new will be easy. We have the best minds working on restoring it to its full capacity. Letting Her Majesty see that it is the only way until we can find a better one, or until people can learn to live with each other," he lets out a soft sound, "well, that is another thing entirely."

"Don't fret too much, my friend. And don't underestimate Esther. She knows that there are necessary evils." William sighs, "Though I imagine she'll be rather insistent in bargaining for things to be otherwise." And with that, the Professor straightens, uttering, "It'll give us extra eyes, Virgil. Right now, we need that," just as he turns to head back inside.


End file.
